Seraphic Wings
by Xirysa
Summary: FE7 The Seven Virtues as you've never seen them. Sequal to Sinners All. The Third Wing: Charity. He gave her a curt nod in recognition of her thanks and disappeared into the night.
1. The First Wing: Chastity

**Xirysa Says:** REWRITE REWRITE REWRITE. XD So yeah. This chapter (the original) is the only one that's gonna stay the same in this 'fic this time around. With some changes, of course. Therefore... Yeah. Um, what was a I saying again? Oh, right. I stand by what I said earlier, however: sequels tend to suck. I hope it isn't the case with this, however. And I apologize to everyone who reviewed, but... Could you please review again? I would really appreciate it. And as to why I'm starting over on this... Well, I had a flash of inspiration in which all the virtues were made angsty! And I love angst. Ergo, it seemed like a good idea. So, enough babbling. ONWARDS.

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Seraphic Wings  
The First Wing: Chastity  
Starring: Vaida

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**chas·ti·ty** (chās'tĭ-tē): the condition or quality of being pure or chaste

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It was a fact of life. She had seen enough with her own eyes to know that it was true. Be strong or be conquered. Fight to survive, otherwise you were as good as dead.

_"Stay still, you damn bitch!" She feels something smash into her face, tastes the warm blood that trickles from a gash by her left eye. _

And she had that fighting spirit—she couldn't become what everyone expected her to be.

She didn't care that she had run away from home, away from a forced marriage that would have kept her family out of poverty. In the small village she was born in, in the foothills of the Bern mountains, you were expected to marry young, expected to be with child before your twentieth birthday, be a dutiful mother and a quiet wife, listen to your husband without a second though… She could never have that kind of life. When you were young, your life would be dictated by your parents. When you grew older, your life was dictated by your husband's family. You had no life of your own. You were a mindless little drone.

_She hears a wyvern shriek with rage and feels her heart sink when she sees Umbriel lying bloody and broken on the hard earth. _

It had been the autumn of her thirteenth year when she joined the Bernese wyevrn riders, throwing herself into her training with a zeal that bordered on obsession. Two years later, she was made an esquire. When she was sixteen, she was made an official knight. Such an accomplishment was unheard of, especially for a woman. Though there were many other girls training to become wyvern knights, she was undoubtably the most skilled of the lot.

_Forced to the ground, clawing, ripping, tearing… Searing pain on her left thigh, slashing through the fabric and flesh. It's five against one, she can't win. Their intent is obvious._

The youngest woman knighted in the history of Bern... She and Umbriel were famous, respected and held in awe by the men and women who served Bern alongside them. They were what everyone wished to become. She was proud. She was strong. She couldn't show any weakness—after all, she was the Flying Fang!

_Her breastplate is removed, hands are placed where hands shouldn't be, and she hopes with all her heart that Umbriel is safe._

She was pure—no, that word was too soft for her. She was untouchable. Yes, untouchable. She was always out of reach, always what everyone aspired to be.

_She is pushed onto her stomach and kicks out weakly in an attempt to free herself. It doesn't work._

The knights under her feared and respected her. Her temper was unpredictable—calm and serene one moment, a tempest of blood red and metal the next. She was what everyone wanted to be, what everyone wished to become.

Even though they see the scars. To them, it was simply a sign of her strength and valor. None knew the true meaning of the scars.

_They laugh and she feels cold, oh so cold. She knows what is going to happen, and she cries for the first time she can remember._

Many offered to heal her, to remove the blemishes that disfigured her once beautiful face. She had refused them all. Even though her strength failed her once, she overcame it and pulled through. Like a sword in the forge, she had been beaten and hit and pounded into something stronger.

_One man leans over her face and leers at her, and she recognizes him—they had trained together. "Look at her, Bern's Flying Fang! See how weak you've become?"_

Sometimes, though, there were times where heart ached at the memory of the one time she had been weak, of the time her strength had betrayed her. In the quiet of night, when on sentry duty, when it was only her and Umbriel and the infinite darkness around them, she would run her finger down her face, tracing the pattern of knotted tissue, remembering the pain and vulnerability she felt that night so long ago.

_The pain comes then. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. There's blood in her mouth, on her arms and legs, is it her blood, it's so bright…_

Despite that, and even now, years after the war, even after everything that had happened and had been done to her, she was still strong. She kept the scars to remind her of that fact. Because she is still untouchable. She is still pure.

_They leave her body, battered and bloody, on the hard earth. When she is sure they have left, she crawls to Umbriel and strokes the unconcious wyvern's jaw with one bloody hand._

After all, she couldn't have those bloody little moppets twittering on about her, could she?

_"We made it, Umbriel..."_

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**Xirysa Says:** Did I say that sequels suck? Check. Basically, the scenario was this (and I'll admit I took artistic license as the author): even though she got raped, Vaida's epic enough to remain strong and pure of heart. Because chastity doesn't only mean you're a virgin, right? You can be pure in other ways as well. And… Well, that's what I think of Vaida. Same drill as last time, guys. You feedback and critique this and offer your opinions on the next chapters. :D And I'll give an internet cookie to whoever figures out the origin of the title.


	2. The Second Wing: Humility

**Xirysa Says:** One thing you readers may want to know is that this particular 'fic comes somewhat from personal experience. As some of you may know, I have been learning Indian classical dance for the past eleven years, and I got the inspiration for this from a lecture my dance teacher gave us during dance class a few days ago. So… Erm. Yeah. Enjoy! I've wanted to write EliwoodxNinian for a long time…

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Seraphic Wings  
The Second Wing: Humility  
Starring: Ninian

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**hu·mil·i·ty** (hyoo-**mil**-i-tee): the quality or condition of being humble, modest opinion or estimate of one's own importance, rank, etc

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_Beautiful. Stunning. Wondrous. Enchanting. Lovely._

Many people have said many things about my dances—all of it praises. And when they do, I smile and say thank you, it was nothing, my pleasure, I'm glad I could help. And it is all true. I am truly happy that I was able to help them, all of them. I tell them this, and they just laugh and say that I shouldn't be so modest, stop being humble, I deserve the praise.

_She spins once and kneels down on one knee. The music lasts a moment longer before it, too, ends._

But they really don't understand, do they? Nils does, of course. I know he does. But no one else knows. Nothing of the pain I feel when I lie to them. It hurts so much, the ache in my heart when I say that I don't deserve their praise.

_The dance is done. The praises start._

Because I don't. I do not deserve their kindness, their gentle words, their thanks, the happiness I feel when they compliment me on a job well done.

"_It was truly amazing, Ninian," Lady Lyndis says with an awestruck smile._

We've been lying to them. Nils and I, we have to hide who we really are. _What _we really are. And carrying that pain, carrying the lie... It hurts. It really hurts.

"_Even the flowers cannot compare to your delightful dance, milady!" Sain exclaims while grabbing his heart for dramatic effect._

Nils... Nils is just a boy. He is just a child. He doesn't understand. He's too young. The weight of our burden doesn't rest on his shoulders. It is my pain, my guilt. And I shall bear it alone.

"_Your dances are wonderful, Ninian," says Lady Xirysa. "Teach me one of yours sometime, and I'll teach you one of mine."_

Sometimes, I wish that I really _was _human. I wouldn't have to deal with this pain and heartache and the guilt. Because there is guilt. All the time.

__

_Florina smiles shyly. "I-it really did make me feel a lot better, Ninian. Thank you."_

How long can I keep decieving them like this? I hate it! They all care about Nils and I so much, yet our very presence brings them closer to danger. How many times have they faced death because of us? How many battles were fought because of us?

_"I don't believe it!" Canas gasps. "I've actually met someone who knows the old dances!"_

And yet they say that it's alright because that is what comrades do.

_Even Kent smiles. "Thank you, Lady Ninian."_

I cannot do this anymore. I can't keep lying to them. To him.

_She sees him watching from the edge of the group, arms folded over his chest and a smile on his face._

He saved me once. He saved me again, a year later. I do what I can to thank him, but even that, I think, is not enough. Because I am falling in love with him. I know it is wrong, and I know that I cannot. How can I love a man whose father died because of me? It is wrong. It cannot be.

_Her heart flutters when he looks at her and she sees his eyes twinkling in the firelight._

I... I told him that I was decieving him. That I wasn't fit to even be in his presence. And it's true. But he... He told me that it was not true. He said that he was always there for me.

_When he makes his way towards her, she freezes. What does he want to say?_

I am a liar. I do not deserve to be in the presence of someone so noble and pure and gentle and loving. I am tainted.

_He stops in front of her._

My humility stems from my guilt.

_"Lovely," he says._

I do not deserve this.

_She knows he is not talking about the dance._

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**Xirysa Says:** Uhm. Yeah. So Ninian's humility is from her guilt? I can see that. But that's just me. And really... I've been like that. Of course, my reason for being humble was that I didn't feel that I did well in a particular dance program or something. But I'm picky and a perfectionist like that. Wish that would go into my writing... Huzzah for another craptastic chapter! I need feedback. Badly.


	3. The Third Wing: Charity

**Xirysa Says:** Hm? Karel? Baby-eating, "Imma kill yoo" psychopathic _Karel_get the chapter on charity? Hell yeah.

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Seraphic Wings  
The Third Wing: Charity  
Starring: Karel

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**char·i·ty** (**char**-i-tee): generous actions or donations to aid the poor, ill, or helpless

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The cold night air stank of blood.

It hung, thick and heavy, over the parched earth and mingled with the screams of men who writhed it agony, awaiting death's cold embrace.

The fools. The poor, weak, pathetic fools.

He smiled, feral and wild, as his blade slid between the ribs of his opponent. No, they weren't totally incompetent. They had, after all, given him a nice time. He hadn't had this much fun in months, and his blade had been thirsty.

_Delicious._

The man he had just stabbed gurgled and gell to the ground in a tangle of limbs that twitched spasmodically from time to time. A few moments later, the body was still and forgotten as another fighter took his place.

The blade of the Wo Dao was parched. Tonight, that thirst would be quenched.

Glinting in the moonlight, demon and sword feasted upon the screams of dying men and the lifeblood that flowed, hot and thick and crimson, from their wounds. He danced between his opponents, orchestrating a song of death and destruction, a cacophony of screeches and clangs of metal on metal.

_It was perfect._

Oh, how he loved it. The blood called out to him like food beckoned a starving man. He could not ignore it, nor did he want to. It was all so, so...

Addictive. Yes, addictive. That was the word to describe it.

He toyed with his opponent for a while before finally driving the Wo Dao through his heart. The man crumpled to the ground instantly. Wiping his blade on the man's dirty tunic, he straightened up and looked around.

Aside from the ragged breathing of the man he had felled but a moment ago, all was silent.

_How disappointing._

The demon inside him was not yet sated. More blood would be shed before the night was done. He turned to leave this encampment of the dead when something caught his attention.

The harsh breathing of pray who knew they were cornered, who knew that death was inevitable. He smiled once more.

There was a little mouse that needed to be exterminated.

He paused for a moment, trying to decipher the location of the sound. His ears, keen and precise from a solitary lifestyle, soon pinpointed the source, and he followed it.

_Hungrily, greedily, impatiently._

He made his way through the cold and silent bodies to a wagon that lay on its side. It was a musty old thing, broken and battered. An old, worn-out cloth draped forlornly over one side of the wagon, and he could barely make out a figure underneath it.

His face twisted into a horrible mockery of a smile, and he licked his lips in anticipation.

Perhaps his thirst would be quenched sooner than he thought.

The sound grew louder as he approached, finally escalating into a muffled shriek of fear as he pulled back the cloth and smiled at the person who sat inside. His smiled faded. He blinked.

A child who couldn't have been much older than eight or nine years of age sat in a corner of the wagon. Her back was pressed up against a wall, and she held a knife in front of her chest, as if it would save her from her inevitable demise.

_Pitiful_.

Yet... There was something about seeing the child that affected him in a way that he could not explain. Perhaps it was the innocent mixture of fear and hope in her eyes, or the way she defiantly held the small kitchen knife in front of her chest.

But that did not matter. His blade still hungered for blood, and this child would sate it.

He stepped into the wagon and towards the child, sword raised in front of him. He reached out and smiled when the Wo Dao made contact with the child.

The child slid to the ground, one hand raised to her cheek in surprise. A small rivulet of blood ran between her fingers and dripped on to the wooden floor below. She looked up at the demon in surprise.

He turned and lifted the cloth, but stopped when he heard the girl whisper something.

"Thank you..."

He acknowleged her thanks with a curt nod and disappeared into the night that reeked of blood.

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**Xirysa Says: **Well, there you have it. Karel is... Hard to write, surprisingly enough. Like, I didn't want him to seem totally crazy (because he probably is somewhat sane) and bloodthirsty (I mean, he's human too, right?). But still... It was really hard to do. But... Wouldn't Karel sparing someone be like... Charity for him? That's my thought, at least. Anyway, feedback and critique... Really, it would mean a lot.


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